


Recompensation

by moon_opals



Category: Black Panther (2018), Black Panther (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Will do the right thing, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Gen, T'Challa wants to do the right thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 12:53:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13741287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_opals/pseuds/moon_opals
Summary: What T'Challa does now will not change the consequences of the past, but it will change the course of the future. T'Challa makes an informal visit to a forgotten relative.





	Recompensation

Oakland, California to Ponchatoula, Louisiana is a thirty two hour drive. Alternatively, Oakland, California to Ponchatoula, Louisiana is a four hour flight. Another alternative, T’Challa and Shuri shorten the flight to two hours and forty-five minutes using their flying craft.

A small city of approximately 7,209, its landscape falls closely to a sleepy town instead of a small city. If not for the fact it was a loose one hour drive from the infamous New Orleans, there would be nothing special about it at all. Admiring its quaintness comes easy to them. There's something kind, something welcoming about the landscape they fly above in their silent ship. The silence ensues longer than Shuri prefers, and as she descends, she breaks it with a cheeky smirk. 

“The Strawberry Capital of the World.” She recites the article she read ten minutes earlier as she lowers the craft onto another basketball court. This court is connected to a small park that is connected to a smaller apartment complex. Dark stains spot on the back, and the litter is abundant to the front. It is better off than its larger counterpart in California, certainly not condemned, and they watch as children begin to spread out, running to the swing sets and seesaws.

“Do they know we’re coming.” Shuri watches the cloaking mechanism take control of the craft, eliminating the physical appearance completely.

T’Challa sees beyond the apartment complex and the children filling its parking lot. He walks ahead, motioning for Shuri to follow, and they say nothing as the adults and children alike pause in their movements to watch the familiar and unfamiliar intrude their bubble.

They arrive to the second floor of the complex. The door is a reddish brown with a Welcome mat at the front door. He hears the crackle of a television on the other side. He hears voices on the other side, three maybe two. 0973 lies under the peephole, and T’Challa breathes, curling his fist to knock sharply on the fragile door. Silence breaks free, the bodies standing quietly before the sound of footsteps rushing to the door fills his ears.

Someone presses an eye through the peephole, and there’s the excitement, the inaudible excitement that takes hold of them as they rush away from the door, hissing quietly, _“He’s here, go get Mama.”_

They wait patiently for the door to open. It swings open to reveal a woman of an age near to his with frizzy hair held together by an oversized hair band. Dark circles push into her eyes, and there’s a shadow of a grimace on her lips as she takes in their presence. She winces at them, shaking her head, and finally, slowly nods in confirmation of a brief debate that goes privately within herself.

“You came.” A cracked, humorless laugh leaves her lips, “God damn, you actually came. Okay, then, come on in. I don’t need anyone looking into this.”

“Thank you for having us.” He says and nods to Shuri who repeats the same thing. It’s unusual to see her quiet. Observant is a better term. The woman nods in return and looks behind them, sees a small sized imprint on the sofa, and sighs.

“I don’t think you can say no to a king.” She runs her fingers through her hair, and presses her other hand to her chest, “She’s in her room. You take a seat, make yourself at home.”

T’Challa smiles reassuringly and sits at the kitchen table with Shuri following his lead quietly. The woman disappears down a hall where soft voices are heard.

_“Luna, I told you the time they were arriving. Why didn’t you answer me?”_

_“They’re Wakandan, Mama. They don’t want to see me.”_

_"That’s not true, baby, and they've come a long way to see you."_

_"I don't want to. I wanna stay with Adonis."_

_"I will not ask a third time."_

Shuri leans over his shoulder for a better view. He feels her eyes widen when the woman reappears with a child’s hand gripped around hers.

He has seen scant photographs of his uncle. N’Jobu stands tall in those fallen memories, a haunted figure with sunken eyes and a peaceful smile. His arm wraps around his brother’s shoulders, and there is nothing to suspect in their faces that would hint at the tragedy to unfold. In the child he sees the resemblance, the strong jawline, the pronounced gaze, and the dark skin that illuminates in the sunlight, restful like dark side of the moon.

She grips her mother’s hand tightly, refusing to relinquish her guarded gaze. Her mother sighes, tugs her softly to where she’s standing in front her.

“Luna, dear, this is King -”

“King T’Challa of Wakanda.” She recites deliberately, resolutely, and casts her attention onto Shuri, “And Princess Shuri of Wakanda.”

Shuri grins, tapping her fingers on the table, “Someone’s done their homework.”

“Daddy told me about you.”

Her mother sucks in a sharp breath, “I’m sorry…”

T’Challa cannot cease his smiles. The child's precocious nature endears him in ways her appearance does not. It’s a swirl of family residing in her face. His uncle, his cousin, and the third, true person fall on her. He takes three, tentative steps before kneeling to her level, “What has your father told you?”

She pulls her left arm back. He tries not to peek over her tiny shoulder, but sees the black journal she tries to conceal in her arm. His eyebrow arches, and his gentle smile grows.

“May I see your book, please?”

Her mother’s approval is irrelevant. He takes the journal into his hands and opens its, sobriety quiets his voice.

The pages show signs of repeated reading. Small notations are dotted in the corners. He pays attention to an inscription on the side. The writing is clear, precise, a recent addition that did not belong to N’Jobu’s hand.

She watches him carefully. Quietly, she walks behind him to read over his shoulder, " _Daddy told me his daddy gave it to him.”_

Her mother's calm features give way to shock. Shuri’s bottom jaw drops bemusedly, and T’Challa chuckles, _“Yes, yes, he did. Your grandfather, your father’s father was my uncle.”_

 _"I can read some of it. He taught me. I don’t know enough.”_ She looks to her mother sadly, _“She can’t teach me the rest. She doesn’t know.”_

Confusion bleeds onto the woman’s face. He feels sympathy for the both of them. He takes the girl’s hand and feels relief when she doesn’t jerk away.

_“One day, maybe you can teach her.”_

* * *

The woman keeps watch on the balcony. There’s a smaller playground across from the complex, one that is actually connected to the complex. The swing set falls low to the ground, and he feels rust building in the palm of his hands. But if this bothers Luna, she makes no sign of it, kicking her feet lightly in the dirt as she rocks gently from side to side.

“What did he do?” She doesn’t raise her head to look at him, “Mama said he did a bad thing, and died because of it.”

“Luna, how are old you?” Shuri asks to the side, “Your mother said you’re very bright.”

“I’ll be ten this September.” She squints at her and frowns, “And how old are you, thirty-five?”

Shuri reels back, nearly losing her balance, and the sound that emits from her mouth is a twisted combination between a laugh, bark, and snarl, “Thirty-five! I’m 16, you nugget monster!”

“It isn’t my fault you look old!” She kicks dirt in her direction.

“Oh, no, you did not.” Shuri kicks dirt back, and Luna kicks more dirt in her direction.

“Now, you two,” T’Challa warns but a small cloud of dirt escalates between them. The chains start to spin and turn as they try to get the better of the other. He sighs, standing, and separates the chains before either of them can fall backwards.

They’re gasping for breath, staring at him, and she says, calmly, in between pants, “That was a dodge. What’d he do?”

He looks down into the pool of brown eyes. A startling clarity waters through her gaze. He has to remind himself that she is nine years old and knows more than she should, has seen more than she should. His heart trembles at the thought, but he will not pry, he will not pull at teeth.

Shuri knows instantly, “He hurt a lot of people.”

“He killed them.”

Shuri and T’Challa bit down on their lips. The blow is light, no less painful, but lighter than they anticipate. There is no shame, no grief, just a wicked transparency lying on the child’s face as she looks between them, no through them, not ahead of them. She waits for an answer.

“He talked about it, to me, sometimes.” She lowers her head, “He wanted me to be better because I am better. He said I’d have to fight if I wanted to live, survive. If I was going to be somebody in this world, I’d have to be better than everyone else.”

“You shouldn’t have to fight, Luna.” Shuri whispers, “You won’t have to fight. We’ll do it for you.”

“But I should learn.” She says, “Didn’t you hear about what happened at the Dairy Queen in Missouri. Crazy spikes came from the ground.”

“Defense is noble. Defense is good, but we do not learn to kill immediately, unless forced,” he pushes the chain and watches as she moves backward and forward, she doesn’t look back at him, she doesn’t smile, “your father wanted to protect you.”

Shuri turns away, frowning. He understands. She’s still a child, despite her intelligence and skills, and he won’t ask more from her than she can bare.

“He’d read to me.”

“Did he?”

“Yes.” She clarifies flatly, “He always sounded angry, but when he read to me, when we spoke in _Wakandan_ he sounded not angry. He had a nice voice. A pretty voice. I liked hearing it, and when we’d finish, we’d watch cartoons and eat Cookie Crisp.”

When he catches the chains in his hand again, she looks back at him. Water balances perfectly on the edges of her eyes, “I don’t have anyone to read to me anymore, not like him.”

All he knows is the child doesn’t resist him. He does not know what compels him to take her in his arms. She does not sob into his chest. She does not whimper. Her body stills completely, every muscle in her body going rigid, but she takes hold of him in return. She wants to be held, if only for the familiarity in the body structure. He sits on the swing and swings with her on his lap. Her arms wrap around his neck.

Something has broken inside. Something that cannot be repaired, and he embraces her as tears stain his cheeks. He weeps for the child unable to shed tears, and relies on her delicate strength circling his neck. 

It is then he realizes she has chosen to comfort him. In gratitude, he tightens their embrace. 

* * *

“You want her to spend the summer in Wakanda.”

Her clear statement makes him appreciate her all the more. Shuri and Luna play outside, and he can see them running across the playground. Luna is in the lead. Shuri takes her arm before she crashes into the cloaked craft. She’s patient with her. Gesturing to its shape and showing her the device; he sees the stars in her eyes as his sister explains the mechanics. What exists beyond the plane of awe is a clear understanding of what she tells him, and that is more precious than he can ever imagine.

He nods, “I want her to spend summers in Wakanda with your approval. Your daughter is exceptional from her test scores,” and it’s a crime to keep her locked up in this small, tiny town he wants to say. She seems to catch his thoughts without trying.

“Erik said the same thing, you know.” Her lips set in a thin line, “ _She’s too fuckin’ smart to be here_ , and he was right. He think I don’t know? I know how fuckin’ smart my girl is. Teachers want her evaluated for gifted programs, advanced placement, but America isn’t kind to black girls.”

“I know.”

She wipes eyes, pressing her knuckles into the corners, “We were on and off, you know? He was never a nice man. He was never good, but with her, whatever was wrong with him receded for a little while."

“Nothing can soothe a man’s soul like the love of his daughter.”

She laughs mirthlessly, “ Looking at her inflamed him,” she throws her hand at the small child in the distance, “all he saw what was going to happen to her --- what the world was going to take from her. He loved her. He _adored_ her, but her existence infuriated him.”

He can say nothing to that. When he sees her he sees the future, the potential lying in the center of her palms. He sees beauty, radiance, and power. He sees a beautiful, dark light, and it is that light that will raise the world. He can also see the burdens and terrors. He can see the dangers lurking in dawn, waiting to strike. He knows they want to pull her down, drag her beneath the ash and bones of her ancestors.

“She needs tools to live.” He reassures, “We can teach her. She won’t be alone.”

“Won’t be alone?” Thunder crackles into her tone. Her dark eyes flash blue momentarily before calming, “When I let her go, you’ll protect her...how many will be after my girl’s head for what her father’s done?”

“Wakanda will not rain vengeance on a child.” His eyes widen, and horror erupts on his face as he stares back at her, who has become stonily silent, “It will not.”

He wants to believe this. He has to believe this. 

“Sure, she won’t.” She tilts her head to the side, mouth crooked, “I need to know you will protect my daughter because she is better, and she deserves more than I can give her. Oakland terrified me. Manhattan nearly killed us, so I need you to promise me you’ll protect my daughter.”

“You can come with her.”

“I have another child.” She doesn’t look him in the eye. Guilt seeps through, and she can't look at him as she admits her truth, “I can’t leave them behind. I can’t leave my family again, but she has a chance they don’t. So yeah, take her and show my girl the world. Give her what she needs to survive.”

* * *

Her cheek is soft, tender against his palm. She stares at him with eyes too wide, too large, too dark, too knowing in their clarity, and the knife twists in his abdomen when she lifts her gaze to meet his. He is far above her. He wonders what lengths she’ll scale to surpass him.

“I will return.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.” Her mother stays silent behind her, watching them from the balcony, and shakes her head as she disappears from view, _“But I did have fun, thank you.”_

 _“You have so much to learn, little one.”_ He gets on his knee and says in a quiet, hushed voice, only so she may hear, and as his head moves away, he sees a ghost of a smile on her lips. Relief fills her eyes, and quickly shuts itself away, almost ashamed to have revealed so much.

_“It was fun, little cousin.”_

For Shuri, she spares a wave and a hug. She doesn’t stay to watch them leave. She climbs up the stairs and enters the apartment without a sound, and though he cannot see her, he feels her glare simmer through the curtains. The intensity burns him, pains him in ways he has never thought he’d feel.

This is a chance for him to do right by his family, a family he had never known, a family he did not know existed until a few weeks ago. He sees his hand clutching the blade, gazing into the sunset. He is resolve. He is sure. His final words will haunt T’Challa for years to come, and the way his body sways to the dirt beneath them, life spilling over the surrounding rocks.

He doesn't want history to repeat itself. He refuses it. He denies it. Shuri takes control of the craft and speeds off in the distance, leaving him to his thoughts. The gesture is a thoughtful one.

She cannot clench her curiosity, “What did you tell her?”

“What are you talking about?”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever you said to her right before we left put her in a good mood. I saw her smile for real, and I have to say, it was beautiful.”

“I just…,” realization dawns, his mouth closes. He repeats the name. Breathes. And smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> I was hoping to see an illegitimate child in the film, and it did not disappoint. I wanted to see Erik as a parent in some fashion. He would not have been the best father, but he would have loved his child dearly. The child is inspired by Luna Lafayette, an actual Marvel character.


End file.
